


The best nephews around

by wordfrenzy (orphan_account)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3422159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/wordfrenzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One thing about Bilbo is that, whilst he can be quick at speaking his mind at times, this is something that renders him speechless. After all, it isn't as if he can walk up to Thorin Oakenshield and tell him he's habouring quite a big crush on him — then again, that's where Fíli and Kíli come in.</p><p>
  <i>'You know,' Kíli says, smirking. 'You don't have to accept our proposal. If you wish, continue gazing at Uncle from afar. We won't stop you.'</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The best nephews around

'So, uncle Thorin?'

Kíli has a smug look on his face, and considering Fíli — the slightly more mature one of the pair — fails to hide his own, it is a clear sign that, in whatever way they've done it, one Bilbo is not particularly concerned by, they _know_. He can simply stride off in the other direction, but with the stiffened back and wide eyes, he has given too much away.

In a slow, almost cautious movement, Bilbo folds his arms behind his back and offers them a tight smile. All the other dwarves are out of earshot, tending to the jobs of sharpening their knives or axes, or looking over the prints for the rebuilding of Erebor, or stuffing their mouths with what food they have hidden in their pockets. Bombur, for example, who in spite of being chided by Bofur, has a record of four pies in each. Thorin is out of sight, too; he’s probably elsewhere, pacing with a mind full of complicated decisions that are yet to be made. Usually, Bilbo might have been concerned for the exhaustion settling in after Thorin's recent recovery of dragon-sickness, but those thoughts have been set aside thanks to the Durin brothers.

'Yes, well.' He leans back against a rock, nose twitching in a peculiar and catlike manner. 'There's no point in denying it, but how did you find out exactly?'

'You act as if you were hiding it,' Kíli says. 'And well at that.'

Bilbo frowns, then opens and shuts his mouth several times before letting out a frustrated sigh. 'Yes, in fact. I did. I _was_. Lasted this long, much longer than I thought anyhow. I suppose telling Thorin myself is out of the question, given our current circumstances, so you may as well run along and tell him yourselves.' He waves his hand dismissively. 'Go on. Off you go, nothing I can do —'

A hand clasps down on his shoulder, cutting him off. It's Kíli's hand, hard and unflinching, with dirt under his nails. 'Calm down, Master Boggins. We didn't come to expose your fancies; well, not unless that's what you'd prefer. It'd be much quicker coming from —'

'Which he won't,' Fíli says, swinging for a clap around the back of Kíli's head, which is too slow to dodge. Then, to Bilbo: 'We want to help.'

This makes Bilbo scoff, one that almost strangles his throat. 'No, I don't think that would be wise. In cast the two of you forgot, the last time I got involved with your meddling, I was left alone with three trolls!' He knows they hadn't meant anything bad to happen, and he is forgiving to this day, but this time it feels different; with being in no imminent danger, and a concern for his private love life, it all seems a little odd. 'If you don't mind, I'd like to return to . . . well . . . what I was doing.'

'All because of the hobbit and his quick thinking,' Fíli says, bouncing on the heels of his feet. 'Which we're grateful for, so think of this as a repayment of our debt, speaking on behalf of my brother and the Company.'

He looks away from the brothers for a moment, nose twitching again. Thorin, the man he'd thought to be rid of for a while, enters his mind again; Bilbo thinks of the way Thorin had held such confidence upon entering Bag End, treating him with brash words throughout the journey, and how all that time, Bilbo had wished for nothing more but the comfort of his home; the crackling embers of his fire, the scent of smoky fish with a dash of lemon, or the warmth of his bed (a small yet perfect thing he could burrow into), unlike bedding down in the cold, damp confines of a cave.

Then again, Bilbo thinks of the first time Thorin had hugged him — embraced him, and in amongst the thick layers of clothing and armor, Bilbo had felt the heartbeat of a dwarf he'd believed to be dead.

Even with the way dwarves eat with furious enthusiasm that results in chicken bones and fish eyes flung across the room, or the beds of Erebor being a little too hard and the blankets a little too thick, it’s still a home. It doesn’t compare to the Shire, but Erebor is beautiful in its own uniqueness, and Bilbo looks on with awe at how much Thorin can see it, too, of how he's welcomed Bilbo into his home with open arms.

Yes, come to think of it, Bilbo does have a thing for Thorin Oakenshield, but all this time he’s tried to deny it, more to himself than anyone; if the Durin brothers know, at some point it’s bound to come out to the rest, accidentally of course — an abuse of trust has been never an option, being loyal to a fault — but nonetheless out. If he wants to have even the slimmest chance of something between himself and Thorin, this is the best bet.

'You know,' Kíli says, smirking. 'You don't have to accept our proposal. If you wish, continue gazing at Uncle from afar. We won't stop you.'

Fíli nods. 'But be aware that our Uncle is as blind as a one-eyed Goblin, so by the time that tactic of yours has worked, you'll be over a hundred and unable to partake in activities. Such as —'

'Yes, yes, all right. What did you have in mind?'

'Now, that, my dear Master Boggins, is where the fun begins.'

Bilbo shakes his head, holding up a finger in accusation, but his tone holds no malice. 'Talk like that and I'll turn right back around and continue with —' Actually, he hadn't been doing anything. 'I may be part Took, but I am also a Baggins, and we do not contribute to silly ploys, things you both are partly known for!'

'We only thought of expressing common interests,' Fíli says, wearing a similar smirk to his brother. 'Don't you and Uncle share them?'

'That depends.'

'On what?'

Bilbo puts his hands on his lips, faltered when speaking, 'On what interests you're talking about.'

The brothers share a look, and Bilbo thinks he sees Kíli roll his eyes, but then they are taking Bilbo by the arms and dragging him away, into what must be a long-winded plan of how to snatch up a King.

'This'll take longer than I thought,' Kíli says. 'It's a good job we've got years ahead of us.'

' _Years_?'

Fíli laughs. 'Why of course, Bilbo — he isn't easily impressed, our Uncle.'

'It's going to take a lot of work,' Kíli says. 'But you can handle it, can't you, Master Boggins?'

Bilbo gives them a jittery nod, not entirely sure what is going on, or what he is getting himself into, for that matter, but he manages a weak reply before being lifted his feet, into the unknown. 'Yes. Yes, I suppose I can.'

 

~

 

i. _Cooking_

'I don't think this is going to work. It seems quite excessive, what with it being the two of us.' Bilbo studies the array of food dishes laid out on the table; steak pies, soup with thick loaves of bread to dip, roasted potatoes sprinkled with rosemary, and sponge cake and scones. 'Are you quite sure he'll appreciate this?'

'We dwarves take pride in our food,' Fíli says. 'And lots of it. You've nothing to worry about — you'll probably have to try and stop Uncle from downing the lot, in fact.'

It doesn't seem all that confusing, nor is it the food he’s troubled by — as if he’s going to eat much of it, what with his stomach caving in on itself with violent nerves — but how he hopes this evening will go to plan; no rush for intimacy, per se, rather for Thorin to take the hint, and see if he shares the same feelings. Apparently this is considered fine dining, no matter how Bilbo fails to see it, despite being the one who'd slaved over the stove for a good few hours, but nonetheless, if this is what it takes to get into Thorin's good books, then so be it.

He straightens the cutlery for the forth time, flattens out the crinkles in the napkins, and ensures the levels of wine in the glasses are perfect. The layout is sorted, nothing too romantic or an atmosphere that is sure to scream the obvious, or else Bilbo may as well paint I like you across his forehead, yet he’s a fairly organised Hobbit when needed, unlike his house where it can become cluttered and messy, but when it comes to a good impression, he tries his hardest.

Reaching out to do it all over again, Kíli stops him with a gentle hand on his arm. 'It's fine, Master Boggins.'

'It isn't —'

'He's coming,' Fíli says, slipping out the door he'd been peeking out of, and he’s easily heard from the dining area. 'Ah, Uncle! I've something to show you. It's Kíli, you see . . .' Fíli reappears, Thorin in tow, and without so much as a warning, Fíli shoves him into the room, grabbing his brother and swiftly slams the door behind them.

Which leaves a very confused Thorin and fidgeting Bilbo alone.

Thorin turns to Bilbo, frowning, hands resting on his belt. 'They think me foolish — enough to assume I would not understand what's happening here.' He bows his head slightly, as if boring down on him. 'Would you care for the honour of explaining, or should I do it myself?'

'Look, I can definitely explain what's going on.' Bilbo clears his throat. 'It's quite silly. Truly.'

'Master Burglar,' Thorin says, so softly that it is as if he hadn't said anything at all, but that could've been from the blood pounding in Bilbo's ears. 'If you wished to cook for me, you only need ask. It would save Fíli the chance of manhandling me through the door.' Bilbo almost sighs in relief at the small smile on Thorin's lips, and then Thorin gestures to one of the chairs. 'May I sit?'

Bilbo nods and settles down in the chair beside him. 'Shouldn't I be the one asking that? It is your home, after all.'

Wasting no time in gathering bits of food on his plate — two pies, several roast potatoes, carrots and ripping off half of the bread — Thorin speaks to him in that same low tone, 'Of course not. You are my guest, whom for one is the host of this evening. I may be a dwarf, but we practice in well manners, as hard as you would find it to believe.'

A swarm of nerves prevents him from touching any of the food yet, and frankly, he feels like a child, sitting there with his hands in his lap and feet dangling above the ground. He attempts to stem the discomfort in his stomach with a sip of mead, but it clings to his throat as he swallows, thick and cold. The smile he uses to cover it up is shaky. 'If you're referring to ransacking my pantries, then you're right.'

'I thought of no such thing,' Thorin says, and he grins, causing Bilbo's stomach to tighten. 'Though, it is reassuring to have earned your forgiveness on the matter.'

'Oh, well, you have! Before, that was —'

'I understand, Bilbo.'

Bilbo shakes his head, laughing lightly, and takes a bite of bread, more so to smother the clutch of fear from taking over the filter of his words; it’s ridiculous, that of all things, this scared him, not as much as the Trolls or Goblins, not the barrel ride or the Battle of the Five Armies where some dwarves had faced the near breadth of death.

No, in this case it’s a mix of fear and happiness, shy almost. He doesn't know what to make of this situation, whether the smiles he evokes from Thorin is friendly or something more, but he daren't try and find out. Even with running his fingers over Mithril, under his coat, where it might've appeared more meaningful than simple friendship, it had been during a time where Thorin was under the influence of dragon-sickness, so to assume it was more than what meets the eye is hopeless.

As the evening continues, some moments they sit in comfortable silence — once Bilbo's nerves had dulled out with the help of more mead — and others filled with small talk about how Lake Town is fairing from the aftermath or when they will have memorials for those who had fallen, nothing really changes between them.

It’s confirmed when Thorin stands, claps Bilbo on the shoulder and thanks him for the evening before bidding him goodnight without much more.

When Fíli and Kíli re-enter to help clear up, and ask how it went, Bilbo only sighs, 'A fair evening for friends.'

And for the brothers to smile and Kíli to say, 'No worries, Master Boggins, we've plenty more ideas to come!'

 

~

 

ii. _Flowers_

Bilbo picks them himself. Orchids, daises, lilies, all types clumped together in his fist. It isn't the fact of giving flowers that sets him on edge (many Hobbits shared the pleasantries they grew in their gardens, bragging rights at times, too), but how before, with the cooking, it hasn't done much good.

Fíli and Kíli are sure this would do the trick, and Bilbo can do nothing than agree. There isn't any harm in trying a few more plans, unless it’s seen as desperate, as it’s anything but. According to the brothers, Thorin Oakenshield, the great King, is not exactly up to speed when it came to pursuing, what with his focus elsewhere right now. Thorin hadn't dismissed him, even warmed up to his attempts of flirting. Part of him wishes to let it go, carry on with his life without complicating it, but the contrast of emotions were much stronger.

Outside, the air is mostly fresh besides the tinge of burning metal from the dwarves working, but Bilbo's chest feels tight and hurts when he inhales, a sting that lingers.

It's only when someone taps him on the shoulder that he realises someone is speaking to him. 'You'll have to pick new ones if you hold them any tighter.' Fíli nods down at the slightly torn bouquet. 'The flowers — they're starting to not look like flowers at all.'

Oh.

Switching hands, he wipes his sweaty one on his pant-leg and gives Fíli a knowing smile. 'Right, here we go.'

'One more thing, Bilbo!' Kíli says, just as he turns to find Thorin. 'Once you give him the flowers, ask to braid them into his hair.'

Bilbo blinks. 'Braid them . . . into his hair?'

'Can't you braid?'

'Yes, yes, I can braid.' He looks up at the sky and sighs, his nose scrunching again, the twitch that comes on whenever he's nervous or agitated. 'Is it necessary? Aren't the flowers alone enough?'

The brothers share a look that Bilbo doesn't like much, a knowing smile that barely touches their lips before disappearing. 'Why, of course,' Fíli says. 'The flowers alone would be a kind gesture, but for someone to braid them into a dwarves hair would be to show your interest — an interest that Thorin has yet to see. Which he will after this, that we're sure of.'

He leaves with that in mind, though it isn't all that reassuring, what with the hair-braiding possibly being tradition; an act that intimate can't have been so freely exchanged, especially between a dwarf and a Hobbit, let alone between their own kind. After all, he is just a Hobbit, a quiet race who like to sit outside in their gardens and smoke pipeweed, yet here Bilbo Baggins is, ready to braid flowers into a dwarf's hair — which, speaking of, does that include the beard?

As he walks, he smiles at the dwarves he passes, including Bofur who waves at him. 'Where are you off to, Bilbo?'

'To see Thorin.'

Bofur nods down at the flowers. 'With those?'

Bilbo presses his lips together, giving Bofur a tight smile. 'Looks that way.'

'Well, that's grand! I wish you the best of luck!' And of course Bofur knows — most of bloody Erebor probably knew, what with Fíli and Kíli being the most excited about it all. As he says his thanks, Bilbo continues on walking until he spots Thorin in the distance, inspecting over the newly-finished work of the outside of the Kingdom with Balin and Dwalin.

'If we keep at this pace, the remains of Erebor should be restored by the end of the year,' said Thorin, and like this, with his hands on his hips, dressed in the dark blue coat and looking like a King, Bilbo falters for a moment. 'Dwalin?'

'Aye,' said Dwalin, though he clocks Bilbo. 'It will work, but perhaps you'd best tend to other matters.'

Thorin follows his line of sight and smiles when he lands on it.

After he manages to hide the flowers behind his back, Bilbo says, 'Could we talk in private?'

It takes him a while to muster up enough courage to reveal the now rubbish, unattractive mess of grass in his hold; put him in front of giant spiders or what was once a Hobbit that eats the flesh of others, the adrenaline would've told him to get on with it, yet something as simple as this is more of a challenge. 'I bought you . . . these.' Thorin stares at him. 'And I thought. Well, I thought I could . . . _braid_ them. Into your —' Bilbo points to his own head. 'There.'

'Into your hair?'

'No —' He cuts off when he sees Thorin smiling. 'You know what I mean.'

Thorin looks pensive, studying him with his arms crossed. Bilbo shifts on his feet, looking down. 'It's not compulsory —'

'Yes,' is the reply, softly spoken and once Bilbo lifts his gaze, Thorin's eyes have a slight twinkle in them, as ridiculous as it sounds. 'Please, do as you asked.'

'You, you want me to?' Bilbo says, frowning, and it surprises him because for a man like Thorin, a very proud man, he's assumed will not want to be seen with pretty little things in his hair, not in front of company. Especially Balin and Dwalin, and he's saying yes. 'Right. _Right_. Are you sure?'

In answer, Thorin simply sits down on a log, facing away, his hair spread out across his back. As he does nothing more, Bilbo stands behind him, as surreal as it is.

Either way, it doesn't stop Bilbo from doing what he asked.

He tries different techniques, which in the end, all fail. They are loose and stray strands stick out, which are covered up by daisies. A line of flowers hangs across the back of Thorin's head in an upside-down arc, stopping at his ears. In the middle, Bilbo places a single white rose, and though it droops with the weight of it and the colours are all odd, when Thorin stands and gazes at his reflection in a lake, he gingerly touches them.

Then, slowly, too slowly that for a moment Bilbo's heart doesn't seem to take a single beat, Thorin strides towards him. He holds his breath and his cheeks flush with what could be embarrassment or anticipation, but he keeps his gaze on Thorin's, because if he breaks the look, the possibility of something like that happening wouldn't happen. So, he looks, and he looks, and then he feels his pulse stutter back to life, in a jerking movement, when Thorin places his hands on Bilbo's shoulders and squeezes once; he smiles, drops his hands, and steps back.

'Thank you, Master Burglar.' Bilbo deflates at that. 'You have quite the craft.'

Bilbo can only nod. 'The pleasure was all mine.'

With that, Thorin returns to Balin and Dwalin, who glance away the split second Bilbo catches their eye, and now the heat in his face is humiliation; an indignant humiliation that those closest to him had witnessed — had it been strangers, it wouldn't have been much of a problem. Now, each time he sees Balin and Dwalin, and Thorin, he'll be reminded of a second not so rejection. He isn't sure he wants a third.

He goes back to Fíli and Kíli with a stiffness in his mouth and slump in his walk, but like their Uncle, show him a kindness by settling their hands on his back and shoulders, with grins on their faces, ones that start to look frayed around the edges.

Yet, he doesn't know what is sadder: the fact that Fíli and Kíli still believe he has a chance, or that he still believes it, too.

 

~

 

iii. _Spontaneity_

For two weeks, however, not a word is exchanged between Bilbo and Thorin.

At first, Bilbo accepts it and tells himself — _hopes_ — that it is due to the workload, helping the recovering casualties, but when it comes to the seven days without a word, even Fíli and Kíli are stumped; it takes Bilbo back to the flowers, on whether Thorin had really wanted it, but Thorin is one of the most stubborn dwarves Bilbo has ever met, so to say no would be quite easy.

He eats and he sleeps and he eats and he sleeps, when it comes to the point where he thinks it’s best to leave it be. That is, until Fíli and Kíli come rushing over to him on the fifteenth day, with one more plan in mind. 'It's quite simple, really,' Kíli says. 'Sure to work. All you need to do, is go up to Uncle Thorin, grab him by the arms and plant a kiss right on his mouth.'

'I don't think it would be wise,' Bilbo says, flipping over the fish sizzling in the pan. 'It's quite clear he doesn't want to speak with me, let alone kiss.'

'You don't know that, Master Boggins!'

'Oh, but I do. As a matter of fact, kissing him will likely makes things worse!'

Fíli smirks and clasps the back of his neck; similar to way he does to his own brother. 'You've got to try, Bilbo. It may be exactly what he wants, and if it isn't, we'll set him straight. We know our Uncle. We know he feels the same, he just doesn't know how to say it, least of all show it.'

Next to him, Kíli nods. 'And about the flowers, that could mean many things. Maybe he thinks he looks beautiful with pretty daises in his _flowing_ long locks, or he doesn't care if the whole of Erebor sees — though, mind you, whenever I've tried he always bat my hands away, incredibly rude — which brings me to the third option, as we've said, where he is completely head over heels and will accept the gesture purely from the fact that it is you, Master Boggins.'

'I don't—'

'Have faith, Bilbo!'

And maybe it is the way Kíli says his real name for once that makes him nod, as unsure as he is about it working, and set aside his fish. He takes a deep breath, throat dry and a cold sweat slicking over his back, but heads for the door anyway.

After scouting around and asking others, Bilbo finds Thorin holed up in his courters, and he knocks twice. A moment passes and he considers turning round and admitting defeat. It is like there is a tree, with the most ripest peaches man has ever seen, and there sits one at the top, big and grand, like Thorin — and he, Bilbo, is at the bottom, small and bruised and staring up above, an inadequate little thing that will never been seen in the shadows of shade. He’s never thought something like this would render him to comparing himself to a silly fruit.

But then the door opens and Bilbo knows there is no turning back. In fact, a calmness floods through him that he can't.

'I need to speak with you,' Bilbo says, pushing past Thorin and shutting the door behind him. 'I mean, I need to do the speaking, and you will listen.'

'Master —'

'Don't _Master Burglar_ me.' It isn't harsh, not exactly. 'That's quite enough of that.'

Thorin studies him for a while, a glint in his eye that is a cross between amusement and annoyance, but Bilbo isn't in the right mind to read his expressions. 'What is it that you wish to say, Bilbo?'

There isn't anything to say, because he hadn't prepared himself to lead up to it. Really, the only way to solve it is to get on with it, just like Kíli had said, which is the whole point of spontaneity. So, Bilbo steps forward until his feet are nearly touching Thorin's heavy boots, and even for a dwarf he feels immensely tall compared to a daft Hobbit.

His hands are shaking when he hovers them over Thorin's cheeks, face taut with determination, but once he leans up and is inches away from kissing him — from presses their lips together in what Bilbo hopes will be somewhat spectacular, as it is in many of his daydreams, hands roaming and heat building between them — Thorin lays his hands on Bilbo's waist and gently, ever so gently, pushes him away. Bilbo flinches and takes a stuttering step back.

It hurt, but mostly an anger stabs through his chest. 'Right. Well. That's it. For these past few weeks I've done nothing but treat you as nice as possible, so the least you could do is not shove me away like that, or tell me what's been going on!' He breathes deeply through his nose. 'What Fíli and Kíli told me, I would've thought — I believed might've been working, but I suppose not.'

A pause and then: 'Are you quite finished?'

'Excuse me?' Bilbo points his finger at him. 'If that's what you've to say for yourself, then yes, we are quite done!'

As he goes to leave, a hand wraps around his wrist and tugs him back. Thorin's fingers are calloused and rough, scarred, and it makes the breath leave Bilbo in a gasp. 'As I've said before,' Thorin says, but Bilbo doesn't turn, not yet, 'my nephews see me as a fool. Surely you do not think the same?'

'I don't understand —'

'I knew what the three of you were plotting, and what a fine job you made of it.' When Bilbo whips his head round, a slight smile has grazed Thorin's lips. 'However, I am uncertain whether or not you knew what you were doing.

Bilbo huffs. 'I was entirely aware of what I was doing! For you to suggest otherwise is utter cheek, and if I were you, I'd spit it out because the last time I played a game of riddles it nearly got me killed, so —'

This time, Thorin places a hand on Bilbo's cheek, halting him with a stutter of silence. 'All I suggest,' Thorin says, his thumb stroking over the small scar on skin, 'is that you understand what you were truly doing was mistaken for something you thought you were doing. In other words, Bilbo, not only were you trying to create something more between us, but you were . . . courting me. By the look on your face, I would imagine you hadn't known.'

Right.

That settles things.

Bilbo is going to _kill_ Fíli and Kíli.

 

~

 

' _Courting_?'

'Now, Master Boggins —'

'I was courting him? Of all things you fail to mention, that is what you chose!'

Fíli lays a hand on Bilbo's shoulder, and it does calm him somewhat, but agitation still roams. 'We're sorry we kept it from you, Bilbo, but if we were to tell you, would you have done all this?'

No, of course he wouldn't have, as that would have been setting himself up for even bigger disappointment. Bilbo hadn't known how he'd left it between him and Thorin, too busy stalking out the door and cornering the Durin brothers. For all he knows, by walking out, he could've made it worse—that is something he doesn't want to deal with just yet.

'It isn't as if Thorin would've accepted the proposal, had it been that.'

Kíli smirks. 'Are you sure?'

Frowning, 'Well, yes — why, why are you smiling?'

But of course Thorin will be standing behind him. When he turns, Thorin stands there. There's no point in looking back to see the retreating Fíli and Kíli. Bilbo clears his throat, looking anywhere but Thorin's face and bolts his arms behind his back. 'Right,' Bilbo says, leaning on the balls of his feet. 'If you're hear to make fun of my expense — which is completely justified — then I may as well go. I've done it enough for the both of us — mmph.'

And Thorin is kissing him. Just like that.

His arms tie around Bilbo's waist, tugging him closer until they are pressed together. Bilbo doesn't stop it, doesn't freeze in shock or anything of the sort, but winds his own around Thorin's neck, lips parting on a sigh as he livens up with the passion he's wanted to release ever since playing this silly little game. Heat spills in his cheeks and the kiss tastes like mead and peaches and he almost wants to whine when Thorin pulls back, smiling down at him which would've usually annoyed Bilbo to no end had it not been for the tingling on his mouth and flush across his body.

Thorin runs his fingers down Bilbo's cheek, and his smile turns sad. 'I pushed you away because if courting is what you had intended, a kiss could only be initiated by the one accepting.' He brushes away the hair skewed across Bilbo's forehead. 'But now that I know you hadn't intended for it to be a proposal, I suppose it does not matter —'

'It is.' Bilbo shakes his head. 'A proposal, I mean.'

'What?'

'It wasn't. Before.' His fingers curl around the back of Thorin's neck. 'I thought about it. It didn't seem so bad. At first it was a shock, of course, almost a little hurtful that Fíli and Kíli kept it from me . . . but they had good reason to, didn't they? This courting was probably what I wanted all along, and never thought of the correct label.'

It's all true — this adventure they had shared together, through the mountains and sleeping in barns and being stuck in the illusions of a dark forest, that had been the building of a relationship, all the things in between a marriage; for Bilbo, there is nothing more than to ask for Thorin's hand.

A frown burrows in Thorin's brow. 'What is it you are trying to say, Bilbo?'

Bilbo sighed, but smiles. 'Do you want to, you know, do the whole marriage thing?'

It takes a moment, and a little urging with a light tug on Thorin's neck, but then Thorin kisses him again, kisses him hard and lifts Bilbo from the ground. There is a cheering in the background, no doubt belonging to Fíli and Kíli and all the other dwarves they'd rounded up, including Balin, Dwalin, and Bofur.

'The flowers,' Bilbo says. 'Why did you let me put them in your hair?'

'Like I said: I knew what was going on, so I knew by allowing you to do so would confuse you, which all but confirmed my suspicions. A test, if you like.'

'And the not speaking to me for two weeks, was that a test?'

Thorin ghosts his lips over Bilbo's forehead. 'It was the only way for me to know you wanted me; driven by your determination and so many other things, including my nephews — whom I am to thank, it seems — was enough for me to believe. So, yes, it was.'

He sighs again. 'Will I be getting a lot of these tests?'

'Yes, Master Burglar,' said Thorin, and it was affectionate this time. 'You will.'

Bilbo relishes in the kiss he’s given, just a while longer, to savour the moment and feeling of happiness that spreads through him. It doesn’t last, as he’s still a job to finish, pulling away from Thorin and turning — turning to run straight towards Fíli and Kíli; it takes them a moment to catch on, smiles dropping and bolting in the other direction.

After all, Bilbo is still yet to kill them.

**Author's Note:**

> Second Bilbo/Thorin fic, couldn't help myself. I promised more Fíli and Kíli, so here they are. (I've noticed also, throughout all my fics, my style changes depending on the fandom I write for. Is it a good thing?) Anyway, thank you so much for reading; please leave a kudos or share, if it's good enough! ♡


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